


five times Arthur accidentally shot Eames (and one time he didn't)

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's not on," Eames says. "First you shoot me and ruin my shirt, now you're insulting my mum. You are a horrible person, really you are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times Arthur accidentally shot Eames (and one time he didn't)

5.  
The first time it wasn't Arthur, precisely. They were on their first job together, a practice run, and Arthur's projections seem to think the correct response to Eames' mouth, close to Arthur's ear, the hot breath and close to filthy words, well, they think the correct response is a bullet to the throat, it seems like.

Eames' hand snaps up to his neck, and he opens and closes his mouth, eyes wide. He coughs up blood, and it's a horrible sound.

When Arthur comes up after completing the task, Eames is looking at him, inscrutable, and all he says is "point taken."

Arthur can't manage to look him in the eye.

4.

It's a practice run that goes sour when one of Eames' forgeries seems to tip Dom's projections that there's something rotten in the state of Denmark. Dom's probably off making buildings grow like flowers, somewhere else, and Arthur's in a stand-off with Dom's subconscious.

Arthur really has to wonder about Dom's projections sometimes. They're sneaky, and vicious in a way that's uncomfortable, witnessed by the fact instead of just shooting them point-blank, like any normal subconscious, they've decided to take Eames hostage.

The projection that does it is slim, in a stream-lined suit, and he reminds Arthur a little of himself, a compact version that has his arm tucked up around Eames' chest, a gun pressed to Eames' jaw. Arthur really has to wonder at exactly what Dom's subconscious thinks of him, that he's got a facsimile of himself threatening him with Eames' murder.

Sometimes he really hates his job.   
He refuses to be bullied by a weak copy who doesn't even wear a suit well, so he takes aim regardless, Eames' eyes going wide as soon as he realizes what Arthur's about to do.

Eames is taller than the man, enough that the shot that tucks its way beneath his heart, between his ribs, embeds itself through the man's heart.

He drops like a rock, and Eames falls with him.

"Bloody hell, ow," Eames grits out, and his teeth are stained with blood. "Was that entirely necessary?"

"Wasn't aiming for you," Arthur says.

Eames laughs, and it turns into something wracked with pain. Arthur puts the bullet through his eyes as a mercy.

"So there," Arthur says, feeling childish, to the projection crumpled on the floor. "Emotional blackmail doesn't work on me."

When he wakes up, Dom and he are going to have a long conversation about what exactly Dom thinks Eames means to him.

3.

They get caught. There's a job that goes south almost immediately, and before they have a chance to pull out, they're caught in a firefight that goes south as well, where Arthur manages to drop the guys following them, but also clips Eames in the arm in the bargain.

"You shot me!" Eames yells after. He's holding his hand to his bicep, where blood is already leaking through his horrible shirt, through the gaps between his fingers.

"It was an accident," Arthur says, and really, he does feel bad.

"You ruined my shirt!" Eames says.

"Seriously?" Arthur asks, bemused. "I shot you and you're worrying about your shirt?"

"It was a gift," Eames says, but doesn't object when Arthur comes closer, ripping at Eames' sleeve to make a make-shift tourniquet. "From my mum."

"Is your mother blind?" Arthur mutters.

"That's not on," Eames says. "First you shoot me and ruin my shirt, now you're insulting my mum. You are a horrible person, really you are."

"I know," Arthur says, and squeezes Eames' arm. Eames flinches, then glares. "I know a guy who'll have the good drugs."

"Apology accepted," Eames sniffs.

2.

It's been a long day, and it's going to be longer, with a pile of files Arthur has to sort through before the job. Arthur tucks out with a line in his wrist, takes twenty minutes of a too short day to stretch into something longer, almost like a break.

The bar he conjures feels like something from the forties, something almost noir, and the scotch is warm against his tongue, melting in a way it doesn't in reality, but should.

He doesn't look up when someone slides into the seat beside him, and he hears Eames order. It figures, though, that the one time he forces himself to take a break, his subconscious throws in Eames.

Arthur has to wonder if secretly, deep down, he hates himself. It's looking more and more likely.

"You look stressed," the projection observes.

Arthur doesn't answer, takes another slow sip of his drink.

"You know," the projection says. "There are ways to fix that." And then there's a hand on his thigh, high, a thumb tucking itself into the seams of his pants.

His subconscious doesn't just hate him, it also wants to torture him.

Arthur pulls out the glock that appears, resting in the small of his back, and shoots the projection right between the eyes. It drops to the floor, and Arthur takes another sip of his drink. When the music comes streaming through, he thinks he might be even more stressed than before.

When he wakes, Eames is sitting on a chair beside him, looking unimpressed. "You shot me," he says. "Again. We really need to discuss this hostility."

"I thought it was a projection of you!" Arthur says, immediately defensive, before he realises that Eames just _snuck into his dream_.

"You just go around shooting my projections willy-nilly?" Eames says. "I'm hurt."

"You sneak into my dreams and _you're_ hurt?" Arthur asks.

"Precisely," Eames says. "Now I know how you truly feel."

"I'm fairly sure I make that clear," Arthur says, dry.

Eames pouts at him, exaggerated, and Arthur rolls his eyes, a little charmed despite himself.

1.

One day, Arthur is going to work with professionals, and it will be glorious.

That day is not today, however, when Eames is busy in Arthur's personal space while Arthur's trying to work with Yusuf set up the PASIV to take them deeper. Eames is tucked up close, breath against his ear, and Arthur's distracted. It's the last thing they need.

Arthur fires a warning shot, and it grazes the meat of Eames' shoulder. Eames' breath punches out of him.

"You're a terrible shot," Eames mutters after, a level down, where the wound flows slow, just enough to make his shoulder stiff and sore, nothing beyond that.

"You'll find I'm a very good shot," Arthur says. "And I just don't like you very much."

Eames laughs and presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to Arthur's cheek.

"I will shoot you again," Arthur warns.

"I don't doubt it," Eames says, and kisses him properly.

Arthur doesn't shoot him in response, but that's only because they have a job to do.

0.

Arthur is instantly alert at the sound of the door of his apartment opening, alert and with his gun in his hand. It's then that the rest of sleep filters out, when he can hear the kick of Eames' loafers against the floor, the drop of a suitcase. It figures that Eames would break in and risk getting his head blown off.

Arthur flicks the safety back on, puts the gun back down on his bedside table. He remains sitting, listens to the dull sound of Eames' feet against hardwood. When Eames opens the door to his room, Arthur is waiting with empty hands.

"Where's your gun?" Eames asks, illuminated only by the way the light drifts in from the windows, a moon fat in the sky.

Arthur inclines his head toward the bedside table.

Eames opens his mouth.

"Don't turn this into a moment," Arthur warns.

Eames' mouth slides into a grin, something almost soft, and he slides into bed beside Arthur, presses his lips against his temple, murmurs "honey, I'm home," voice a little ironic, but maybe not entirely.

And he sort of is.


End file.
